Embracing Emma (Companion to Brisé) (30 page)

“I love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, baby. Want to tell me where you’re going?”

“I don’t know. I’m making a pit stop in New York. I need to see if I can finish my last year online or transfer schools.”

“Your end game is Washington for your Masters?”

“I think.” She nods. “Please, don’t tell him where I am.”

“We won’t. Please promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“Promise.” She continues to rub my head, smoothing my hair and running her fingers through it. I called Holly, and she’s expecting me. We have a few weeks until her classes start, and she’ll be able to stay at the apartment with me.

My mom is at the hospital. We said enough last night. Sitting on my suitcase is the keys to the apartment and some cash. I drag my luggage to the front door, startled to see my dad sitting in his recliner. “I’m driving you to the airport.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, emotion threatening to take over.

The drive is silent, and he pulls up to the departure lane and stops. “This is your stop.” He’s not coming in? “It’s your time, Emma. I’m proud of you, I’ll miss you like hell, but go fly, baby. Forge your way and don’t look back.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

“Butterbean I love you more than words.” I retrieve my luggage and walk inside. I board the plane, and before crossing the threshold, I do the one thing I was told not to.

I look back.

Chapter Thirty-Two

William

As Phoebe walks in the room, I know something happened. Her forlorn look, her splotchy face, trembling fingers over her mouth. “How’s the patient?” Her false cheerfulness shoots anxiety through me.

“Better.” Brett’s voice startles me. We’ve sat in silence the last eight hours, questions weighing all of us down, none of us willing to ask them.

“Good.” Her wavering smile makes me stand, fear rooting in my chest.

“What’s wrong?” James asks her. Her head turns to me, her eyes downcast.

“I’ll go get coffee.” I get she doesn’t want me to hear what she says.

“Thank you.” Her hand grips my forearm. I make my way from the room and voices start. I hear, “Emma. Gone.” I don’t think. I’m barreling down the halls toward the exit, and I remember I don’t have my truck. Blake is still in the waiting room, arriving in the wee hours of the morning. I rush back and grab him.

“Where’s the fire?” He’s rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Shit, did something happen?”

“Ems.” Her name is sour against my tongue. “Gone.” I keep my pace and exit the hospital. Gasping for air, needing to fill my lungs, I slump against the wall.

“Talk to me.” Blake’s searching my face.

“Phoebe said Ems is gone. I fucked up.”

“What happened before I got here?” The hurtful things I said to her play a constant loop in my head. The look on her face, in her eyes, as I crushed her. I was lambasting. I needed her, and she turned on me. It’s not an excuse, but she knows me better. What happened last night was horrific.

She accused me of setting this in motion. I didn’t. I thought they were empty threats. I knew they were hateful, could be violent . . . but this callous act was unfathomable. Her blame stroked my belief that I was the cause. She was scared and hurt, but so was I. I wanted her to understand, to comfort me, to embrace me in my time of need, but she didn’t. She refused to see the truth, only accepting what her mind made up.

Blake drives me to her house, I ring the doorbell. Nobody answers, no cars but hers in the drive. I try the handle, and it opens. My goal is her room and as I enter I know it’s true. I open her closet, her drawers, everything is gone. All except the pictures of us, the story of our love. Those sit on her vanity . . . my heart in her hands. I inhale, her scent invading my pores, saturating my lungs. They strain, refusing to intake air. I fall to her bed, cursing fate, cursing love, and cursing the day I fell in love with her.

I tear out of her house, heading to mine. I pull my clothes off hangers; I grab whatever I find to pack them in. I empty my entire room . . . even the pictures of her. Of our history. They’re all coming with me.

“What the hell are you doing?” Blake tries to halt my progress.

“You can go.”

“Not like this.”

“Leave.” I kick the sole friend I have out of my house. I’ll handle dropping school later. I jot a note for Brett and James knowing they’ll be hurt, but this is better. I load my shit in the truck and drive to the end of town. I have my money they gave me, I haven’t touched it, and so I put it to good use.

I’m in a one-bedroom shithole of an apartment. No furniture. Barren walls. Living out of garbage bags like the trash I am. This is a stop on the map. Once I have a plan, I’ll execute it and rid them all of me and from me.

Brian and Seth were arrested; my coach calls me daily, as did my parents. I ignored them all. I rarely showered, never leaving my apartment, I was succumbing to the dark, and nobody could save me.

I don’t know where she is. I tell myself I don’t care. Another lie. I refuse to admit I’m blameless. The guilt is stifling, and I revel in it. She blamed me, it must be true. I pushed all the good from my life, and I’ve ended up where I belong.

In hell.

No friends.

No family.

No love.

I still have the anger.

I still have the pain.

And damn it . . . I still have hope. Hope that one day I’ll quit being what everyone expects me to be; one day I’ll man up and become someone they can be proud of. Until then, I’m content to rot here.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Emma

The loss I feel is immense. I didn’t just lose a lover . . . my first love. I lost my best friend. The person I woke up and automatically texted before I started my day. The one I shared funny stories with, or when I needed to vent, his was the number I dialed. He was a habit.

Trying to move forward doesn’t automatically erase the past.

It doesn’t fill the void inside you.

It doesn’t eradicate the love you have. There is no remedy for that.

The person I had to remove is the one who still fills me.

With love.

With longing.

With betrayal.

And pain. Immeasurable agony.

Growing up, I didn’t know where he ended and I began. His thoughts were mine, his humor brought laughter, and to eliminate that is like physically removing a part of me. We couldn’t be defined as separate entities; friends or a couple. We were both, a portion of each attribute. Losing one meant I lost everything.

I wallowed the first weeks I was here; Holly sat with me, held me while I cried, told me I was making a mistake, held my hair when I puked . . . she was my ride or die girl. She returned to school, and I was able to complete courses online. I used family emergency as an excuse, and they granted my request to complete my degree from a computer. There are Skype and collaboration projects I have to complete, but it is amazing what technology allows us.

I sent my application to Washington, and I’m waiting for my acceptance or denial letter. I won’t give up on my degree, my dream to help families merge. I have the next eighteen months of my life planned and none of those ideas involve Will. Or home. I miss my parents like crazy; they are coming for Christmas, still six weeks away.

I refuse any information on him. I won’t let them mention him. James is healing, and his physical therapy is done. My mom did let it slip Will disappeared, living somewhere in town, but I cut her off; it hurt too bad and opened wounds I was trying to close.

All the time alone gives me too much time to think…to dwell. I’ve reread Nana’s letter, nothing is clear to me anymore. Was I rash in judgment? Probably. I can’t go back in time, and he can’t erase what was said. Neither can I.

I’m trying to make my way, plant roots and let them flourish, but most days I feel like they’re floundering. Like me, I’m swimming upstream in this ocean of life. Waves crash, drag you under, but you keep kicking . . . tread water until you crest and resurface. It’s all I can do. I threw away options for a savior, my buoy disappeared, and I’m scared to see what is waiting for me in the next stage of life.

Chapter Thirty-Four

William

My life is full of friends since she’s been gone. Each clamoring for a night with me.

Jack.

Jim.

Jose.

Johnny.

Grey Goose.

I even take a turn with Bud, Busch, Stella . . . those are forgiving assholes. Each and every one of them.

The fog they induce, the numbness they invoke. It’s become a craving. My vice. Instead of reaching for my blonde haired, blue-eyed temptress, I reach for a bottle and allow the liquid to quiet my inner thoughts.

The soul-searching mission I sought is coming to an end. My college days are gone.

My dream of playing pro . . . diminished. None of it matters. So when Brian walks in the bar alone, his bail granted, I don’t think.

I react.

The first blow to his face is cathartic. The bones I feel collapse under my knuckles from the second hit are bliss. The third, fourth, and fifth are my own retribution. I don’t know how long I hit him, how many blows he sustained before I’m hauled off in cuffs, sitting in the back of a police cruiser. He was saved this time, next time he won’t be so lucky.

Years of torment and he’s been behind bars a few months. The scales of justice are seriously skewed, and I’ll continue balancing them. I have a plan; my first since I started this walk in hell. It’s not a healthy plot, but it’s the blueprint I’m creating.

It doesn’t matter. The blood, the violence . . . it’s all a part of who I’m becoming. What I’m born from. I’m finally embracing my inner demons. I’m done fighting them. I’m done fighting for myself. I’ll bring vindication to those wronged and tip the balances in the underdog’s favor. One bigoted asshole at a time.

I have nothing to lose, and that’s a dangerous place for a man like me. A place people like Brian and Seth will discover, time and time again.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Emma

Eating a frozen turkey dinner for Thanksgiving wasn’t something I thought my life would entail. I can close my eyes and smell the decadent aromas from the kitchen this holiday used to bring. My mouth waters thinking of the meal I’m missing. My mom begged me to come home, my dad tried bribery; I wasn’t ready.

I push the lumpy, still frozen mashed potatoes and call home. “Hey, Butterbean.” My mom greets me.

“Don’t mention food. I’m fantasizing about what I’m missing.” I’m not joking.

“Emma, I wish you would’ve come home.” Her voice trails off, and I hear her shoo’ing my dad as he fights her for the phone.

“It’s fine. Promise you’ll help me make Christmas dinner.”

“Of course. I was just telling James how I get to revisit all our old haunts when I come visit you.”

“Mom,” I warn. I asked her not to divulge where I was.

“It’s just them. He’s still evading everyone.” It doesn’t make me feel better, one slip and everything I’m working for could crash in on me.